


Love Is Not A Pie - Marrissey Style

by RockingItInAParallelUniverse



Category: Marrissey - Fandom, The Smiths
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Angst, Betrayal, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Forgive Me, Friendship/Love, Love Triangles, Moz is a jerk, Other, Plot idea stolen from Amy Bloom, Pls don’t sue me, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-07-11 15:01:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19929997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockingItInAParallelUniverse/pseuds/RockingItInAParallelUniverse
Summary: Andy tells of his friendship with Johnny and Angie, drug abuse, The Smiths and all the weird and complicated issues that arise in the years 1978 thru 1987.  Inspired and loosely based on ‘Love is Not a Pie’ by Amy Bloom and interviews and articles about The Smiths.





	1. Give Up Education As a Bad Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> This incident was based off a magazine questionnaire answered by Johnny.
> 
> *Q - What was your worst ever job?  
> JM- Digging a garden with Andy Rourke. We were high on mushrooms, it was raining and it looked like a scene from Apocalypse Now.
> 
> Q - What was the worst date you’ve ever been on?  
> JM - Taking my girlfriend to the garden that Andy and I worked on.
> 
> * This is paraphrased. I remember reading it, but can’t for the life of me find the source.

p>1978 - In which Johnny learns working for a living can be a dirty business-

Johnny & Angie quit school today. I feel kind of guilty. Not like I was pressuring them into leaving school or anything like that. I just worry that they’re following in my footsteps since I quit and think it’s all glamorous and shit.

There’s a knock on the door and there they stand with a suitcase, a red duffle, a couple of guitars and an amp.

“We’re here! This is going to be so great. We’re living like real musicians now!” Johnny says, excitedly dragging the amp through the doorway.

“How’d you get all that on the bus?” is all I can manage to say, even though my brain is screaming ‘what the hell is happening?’.

“Oh we caught a ride from a bloke I know. Yeah, couldn’t get this on the bus, not without risking somebody nicking one of the guitars!”

I told Johnny he could stay at my place. But I’d pictured him crashing here after gigs or parties, not actually moving in. And I should have known that would mean Angie, too, because wherever Johnny is, along comes Angie. They’re a package deal.

“Well we are paid up for this month, but I’m gonna need help come next month” I say. I don’t want to be a dick, but I’m not working two fucking jobs so my friends have a place to hang out and play house for free.

“I have a job at the florist “ Angie says brightly. She is dragging the suitcase down the hall to the back bedroom.

“Don’t worry, mate” Johnny says, lighting a cigarette. “Didn’t you say your boss was hiring?”

I stare at Johnny as he takes a long drag. “Yeah, Johnny. He’s hiring blokes to dig ditches and gardens.”

“Sounds perfect!” he says carrying a guitar in each hand to his new bedroom, cigarette still dangling from his lips.”I’ll go with you tomorrow so I can start right away.”

Johnny is tiny. He is scrappy, but small. He has no clue what this job entails. He’ll rip his hands to shreds digging. I can’t see him lasting very long once he realizes how fucking awful this job really is.

Laughter drifts from under their now closed bedroom door. I wonder if Angie even told her parents she was leaving with Johnny. She’s like barely 15. Johnny and I are only 16. I’m starting to feel a little sick from worry. The laughter has turned into moans and gasps. And I’m standing in the hall like an idiot. Bloody hell. I’m going out. I don’t want to listen to my new flat mates going at it. I can only take so much.

The Next Day

Mr. Peterson looks Johnny up and down. From his black bangs covering his mascara-laden lashes, to his shiny hoop earring, tight t shirt and torn blue jeans, my boss must be wondering what kind of offering to the ditch and garden digging world I have brought to him.

Peterson slowly smiles, revealing his crooked yellow teeth and his beady brown eyes take on a terrifying glint.

“I’ve got a deal for you two,” he drawls. “New client wants ‘is garden cleaned up. ‘As big plans for it, he does. But he can’t get started until the site’s clean an’ prepped.”

This is not good. If Peterson is promising a deal, it means he’s wagering on tricking us to work for free somehow.

“If you lads get the site ready by next week, I’ll pay you double wages.”

Johnny snaps to attention at this. Before I can even open my mouth, he says, “It’s a deal! Thank you, Mr. Peterson! You won’t regret hiring me, sir!”

Bloody fucking hell.

“Oh I can tell just by lookin’ at the two of you that you are perfect for this job. Let me go fetch me keys and I’ll drive you out to have a look at it.” Peterson laughs under his breath as he walks toward the maintenance shed.

“Are you out of you’re fucking mind?” I hiss.

“What? You said you didn’t think Peterson would even hire me! Now he’s offering double wages!” Johnny snaps.

“We only get the double wages if we finish in a week! Which means we’ll probably have to work twice as long. And we still probably won’t be able to get it done so we’ll be working longer for less. I’ve worked for him for 6 months! He’ll work you to death and pay the least amount possible!”

Johnny refuses to let me douse his enthusiasm. “I’m a hard worker, Andy. When I have to be,” he adds when he sees me roll my eyes. “We’ll get it done. And when both of us get paid double, maybe we’ll have enough money for rent AND a new amplifier. Relax, Andy. We’ve got this!”

We climb into Peterson’s van and I can almost see the energy and excitement radiating off Johnny. He’s like a bolt of lightning ready to strike down any obstacle in his path. I start to relax. Maybe Johnny’s right. Maybe this isn’t some kind of cruel joke by Peterson. Johnny is all smiles when the van stops. We’re in a pretty old neighborhood. There’s a lot of overgrown shrubbery and crumbling brick houses. We follow Peterson down an alleyway and through an iron gate. We get our first glimpse of the garden.

Bloody fucking hell.

Even Johnny is quiet as Peterson leads us around. The ground is covered by vines, weeds and trash. The cracked bricks of a long abandoned patio are barely visible through layers of grass and dirt. Giant stumps haphazardly jut out of the ground throughout the space.

“The remains of the patio needs to be gone, but the client wants to use as many intact bricks as possible so don’t just beat the fool out of them breaking them loose, “ Peterson says. “The stumps and their roots need to be dug out and the holes filled. This should look like a nice, clean rectangle of smooth dirt when you lads finish next week, “ he chuckles out loud.

Bastard.

Once we’ve unloaded our tools and Peterson leaves, Johnny says “I still think we’ve got this” but with not nearly as much confidence.

The Manchester weather reflects our mood because rain begins to fall from the clouds and onto our latest disaster.

It’s Thursday. We’ve removed all the bricks and have stacked as many as we could salvage against the house. I’m wielding the hedge clippers like a sabre as I hack the unruly shrubs into submission.

Johnny is swinging a pick, trying break the gnarly roots’ grip on the earth. We haven’t even started on the stumps. I sigh. I have to work my other job tomorrow and Saturday morning. That leaves only a day and a half to finish.

Johnny senses my worry. “I’ll work on it tomorrow while you’re at the lumberyard. I’ll finish the hedgerow and clear the rest of the ground cover. That way we can work on the stumps together.” He puts his arm around my shoulder and squeezes. “Relax, mate. We’ve got this. And look! Angie’s packed us some sandwiches!”

Well thank God for that. It’s the least she can do for me since my bedroom is across the hall from theirs and I can hear everything. Although Johnny swore his screams last night were from Angie rubbing his sore shoulders and back. All purely innocent. Angie’s face was perfectly tranquil without even a hint of a blush at breakfast while we were discussing this, so maybe it’s true. I’m learning that Angie doesn’t embarrass easily, unlike me, so you never know.

On Friday, we trudge to the bus stop together preparing to go our separate ways. Me to the lumberyard. Johnny will accompany Angie to the florist and then travel on to the garden from hell.

Just like the rest of the week, it’s raining. But today it’s raining hard. I can hear it pelting the metal roof of the warehouse. The one customer I’ve had all day looks like he’s been swimming.

“Nasty,nasty, even by Manchester standards,” he says, dripping all over the counter.

I’m worried about Johnny. It’s got be a fucking swamp in the garden. I hope he has the sense to just go home and wait for better weather.

I arrive to an empty flat after my shift. I hear a key turning the lock. I hope it’s Johnny.

“Andy, love! So are you coming with me to see the surprise?” It’s Angie and I have no idea what she is talking about. “Johnny said to grab you and come by the garden after work. It’s our first date since we’ve moved in together.”

“A first date for the three of us?” I’m still confused.

“Yes!” She gives me a light kiss on the cheek. I feel a little flutter of something as we head out into the rain.

We catch the 6:00 bus. We are drenched even with our umbrella. I notice all the puddles, small pools and lagoons in every cultivated courtyard we pass aboard the bus.

Angie notices my distress, lights a cigarette and asks, “He should be alright, right?” She passes the fag to me after she takes a drag.

I take a long pull and force the smoke out my nose. The stinging sensation feels pleasant as I shrug my shoulders in answer.

We approach the garden. There is no noise except the steady patter of the rain. No shoveling sounds, no digging sounds, no whistling, humming or singing. Angie and I look at each other. Her hazel eyes are wide with concern. I’m sure what she sees in my green ones doesn’t give her any reassurance.

We open the gate to the garden. It’s like something out of Night Of The Living Dead. The garden is nothing but mud. Bits of chopped up vines and shrubs are floating in tiny rivers of runoff. I’m starting to think Johnny’s pranking us when I hear a weird sucking sound followed by a very sheepish, “Suprise?”

“Holy shit!” Angie says, running toward the voice. I can barely make out Johnny. He’s up to his chest in a muddy hole. His arms are waving about like a small tree in a typhoon. His black hair is plastered to his head. He is most definitely in a pickle.

“It’s like fucking quicksand,” Johnny sputters as Angie and I try to pull him free. We each grab a hand and tug. Nothing happens except groaning from Johnny. “You’re going to tear my arms from the sockets!”

I tell Angie to grab Johnny under his armpits. She has to crawl on her hands and knees to do this. Thank God she’s wearing a jeans and not a skirt to this “date”. I wrap my arms around Angie’s knees and pull backwards. I fall flat on my arse as Johnny’s torso emerges from the mud. Angie can stand now and has Johnny gripped in a bear hug. I do the same to her and throw all my weight into a backwards lunge. All 3 of us go sliding across the garden as the suction on Johnny’s legs finally releases.

“Holy hell, that was awful!” Johnny says and we all see that he is shoeless and is wearing only one sock. “Bloody bog stole my boots!”

I start laughing. I laugh so hard that I choke and forget that my hands are covered in mud when I wipe my eyes. Johnny and Angie are wrapped around each other, two brown lumps sitting in a river of yard debris. We are all laughing hysterically.

“This has got to be the worst date in the history of mankind,” I say, gasping for air between giggles.

“Yeah. Well it didn’t quite go as planned, “ Johnny says, peering at me underneath his muddy hair.

“I don’t think we’re gonna get those double wages, mate,” I say, trying not to sound smug.

He nods his head and slumps his shoulders. Johnny does not like to admit defeat. “If it’s all the same to you, I don’t think I’m cut out for this type of work. I’ll tell Peterson on Monday,” he mumbles.

I slap him on the back. “Fantastic! But you’re not getting out of helping me with those stumps!” I say. I smile at him to let him know I’m not mad.

“Of course!” Then he quietly adds,” I’ll find something, mate. I’ll be useful.”

“When you do, you owe me a pair of shoes and pants,” I say laughingly looking at my ruined jeans and loafers.

“Just as soon as I get some replacement boots!” He smiles and gives Angie a wet, muddy kiss on the lips. “Thanks for saving me, babe.”


	2. I Swear To God I Never Even Knew What Drugs Were

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which heroin becomes more important than friendships.
> 
> TW - Drug Abuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What was once occasional is now becoming addictive and expensive.

1980

I really need to clean up the flat before Johnny and Angie get back. At least get the needles and baggies out to the dumpster. But I’d rather just sit here and practice this bass line. I’ve almost got it. Our band, Freak Show, is performing tomorrow night. I need to get this right.

Johnny and Angie suddenly appear before me, kind of like magic. I wonder how they do that. Johnny grabs Angie’s hand just as she’s about to sit down and pulls her into the kitchen. It’s then I see the needle in the chair where Angie was going to sit. I hop up and grab it plus the rest of my mess and carry it outside.

Johnny’s standing in front of me, nervously pulling at his ear and hair when I return to the flat. “I thought you were using this stuff only after gigs so you could sleep?” he says, waving a cigarette in front of my face.

“I needed to focus on learning this bass line,” I say, staring at the floor. “I felt too wound up to really practice well.”

“Dammit, Andy! You know I managed to get out of my fucking arrest with just a fine. That’s not going to happen again if the police come here and find all this!”

I know he is upset but my brain is too foggy to understand why. “But you were arrested for possession of stolen property,” I say. “This wouldn’t be the same.”

He mumbles something under his breath, shakes his head and stomps off. This is an angry Johnny, one I don’t often see.

I sit back down on the sofa and pick up my bass. I realize I’m sitting here in nothing but my boxers. I don’t even remember getting undressed.

“Andy, What is going on?” It’s Angie now. She looks like a little pixie. She and Johnny are the perfect little pixie pair.They even have matching hairstyles, short in the back and fluffy on top. Her hair is more brown and Johnny’s is black.

“Andy?” Her soft voice and light touch bring me out of my hair comparisons. She is touching my arm. Her skin is so soft and she smells like flowers. Or honey. I’m not sure which. “Is there anything you want to talk about? Anything I can do to help?” 

I blink several times. She looks like she might cry. This might be my fault. Angie shouldn’t have to cry over me.

“Please talk to me,” she says. I lean towards her. Her worried hazel eyes appear to glow in her delicate face. I think it might be from the tear drops. I know she wants something from me. But I don’t think I have anything to give her. Maybe I could kiss her. I look at her lips. The rest of her face is sad and worried, but her lips are full. I lean in and brush my lips across hers.

“I miss you, Andy,” she says and I feel her warm breath on my cheek.

“I’m right here, love,” I reply.

Angie gently pushes me away and says,” This person is not my Andy.”

She leaves me in my underwear on my sofa. Something important is happening, but I just want to go to sleep. My mind is quiet and my eyelids are so heavy. And then the world goes dark.

“Well so much for tonight’s gig unless you can find another guitarist, “ Simon, our drummer, yells, waking me up.

“What?” I rub my temples trying to figure out what’s going on. 

“Johnny fucking quit. What the hell happened last night?” Simon is livid.

I’m still in my boxers, but the thought of pulling on pants and a shirt makes my skin crawl. I walk to Johnny and Angie’s room to try to apologize for whatever it was I did. I vaguely remember Angie coming on to me. No. That can’t be right. Nobody comes on to me. At least nobody I actually know. Random girls want a quick tup after a gig, but I never even learn their names. So it must have been me coming on to Angie, then.

The back bedroom contains only a mattress. There is no trace of Johnny or Angie. Not even an ashtray. I have the sinking feeling that I’ve really fucked up this time. I race down the hall to the bathroom making it just in time to vomit into the toilet. I’m sweating and the room is spinning. As I lay down on the cool tile floor, I realize I’m no longer in control of my life. Angie was right. That Andy is long gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because you might be cool, but you will never be Johnny Marr-getting-arrested -as-a-teenager-for-possessing-a-stolen-work-of-fine-art cool.
> 
> Anyhoo, this chapter is just my version of what might have gone down after Johnny rethinks his bad boy lifestyle. JM acknowledges his and AR’s drug use as well as his arrest while playing guitar at a band rehearsal in his autobiography.


	3. Good Times For A Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which The Smiths are formed and Andy observes interesting band dynamics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter of pure fiction. Forgive me if the names and dates don’t mesh with actual events. This is my first fanfic.

1982

This gig went surprisingly well considering I was definitely playing a heavy disco bass line, even though Vance said he’d drop dead on stage if he was ever part of a disco band. But his guitar was such a loud, distorted mess that no one seemed to notice. I felt a great sense of pride in that. It was like my own inside joke.

My playing has gotten a lot better over the past year. Probably because I stopped shooting heroin and smoking pot. I’d like to say I was in recovery, but I was just too skint and a bit scared to buy anything.

It was me, Vance and a rotating set of drummers. We weren’t really a band but we got to play at some of the local pubs for free drinks. And it was a great diversion from my daytime shit jobs.

“Andy! Awesome show, mate!” It was Simon from my old band, Freak Show.

“Thanks, man. I heard you were playing with Johnny again.”

“Yeah. Johnny’s working on finding a singer.”

“What happened to Monty?” Everyone our age was in a band, wanted to be in a band or was once in a band. It was like our entire city was playing a game of Musical Chairs with musicians.

“Yeah, well he got on full time at the factory,” Simon said.

I could have got on full time at one of my menial jobs, but I wasn’t willing to take that step. I just turned 18. I’m not done trying to make it in a band. It’s too soon to throw in the towel.

“Well I hope it works out for you lot,”I say. “Tell Johnny hello for me,” and I walked out of the pub, swinging my guitar case.

Two Months Later

On a sunny Friday afternoon, Johnny Marr pays me a visit at the lumberyard.

“Andy, mate! You are looking good!” He smiles as he says this. Johnny looks very Beatle-ish in slim trousers, a white button up and his black hair styled in a mop top.

“I look like a fucking lumberjack while you look like George Harrison,” I grumble.

“One of the many perks of working at X Clothes,” he smiles.

“So What brings you to the lumberyard? Building a picnic table?” We banter easily, that weird day two years ago safely in the past.

“Not today. I’m looking for a bass guitarist for me band. You don’t happen to know anyone, do you?”

This catches me off guard. I’ve heard that Johnny already has a bassist as well as a drummer and singer.

“Isn’t Dale going to be chuffed when he learns you’re getting rid of him?”

Johnny turns slightly red. “Well, um, yeah I would have come to you first, but Dale had access to a warehouse rehearsal space,” he stutters, clearly embarrassed that I know I’m not his first choice.

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” I push. I’m ok with not being his first choice since I was strung out on drugs the last time he saw me. I just don’t want to get involved in any band drama.

“We’ve already told Dale he’s out.”

“We?”

“Morrissey and I.”

“Then it is true! Your singer is Steven Morrissey!” My face is thick with disbelief.

“This is going to be big, Andy. Moz can write and sing. The lyrics he writes, I can’t even explain it! He takes my music and writes these words and it’s as if they couldn’t exist without each other!”

I stare at Johnny. His pupils are wide with excitement.”I know it sounds crazy, but we are going to be the best band in Manchester, Andy!”

“So what was wrong with Dale?” I am still a bit wary of all this.

“He doesn’t have your skills, mate,” Johnny says, slapping me on the back. Then he adds, a bit quieter,” And we are trying to be a gay band cuz all the best music plays at the gay clubs. Dale with his wife and kids and lack of fashion sense really didn’t fit the part, you know.”

A terrifying vision of me as a lumberjack in Manchester’s version of The Village People pops into my head.

“It’s all just an act, mate,” Johnny says, correctly interpreting the look of horror in my eyes. “We’re going for this late 1950’s, early 60’s mod and bruiser look. Once we cut your hair, you’ll be perfect!”

“Cut my hair?” I’ve grown it to my shoulders. I touch the limp, reddish brown tresses. “But this look drives the ladies mad.”

“Just you wait. We give you a flat top and bleach it and vavoom! You’ll be our blond bombshell!” he says through a grin.

“What is Simon gonna be?”

“Well Simon will be Simon.”

“And is this version of Simon gay?”

“Does it really matter?” Johnny is starting to get annoyed. “ Come on, say you’re in.”

I let out a big sigh.

“On a serious note, before you give me your answer, are you, um, clean, mate?” Johnny asks, looking anywhere but at my face.

I guess this topic was bound to come up. Me and Johnny both have experimented with all kinds of substances. I mean it’s everywhere in Manchester and a lot of musicians swear it makes them more creative. Johnny never seemed to have a problem with it. But for some reason, heroin hit me hard. I felt like I was my true self when I was on it. I was relaxed, focused and not really worried about anything. It was such a relief not to feel and think and worry. I didn’t have to wonder if I was good enough. I just was. But heroin is a really shitty way to feel better about yourself.

I manage to mumble,” Yeah, mate. I just have my smokes and knock back a few pints.”

“Perfect!” Johnny brightens at this. “Morrissey doesn’t want the group involved with drugs. He wanted to ban alcohol as well, but I changed his mind.”

What kind of band is this? A gay one without drugs or alcohol? Steven Morrissey is an odd bloke. He’s known about town for his biting written critiques of local bands. I’ve seen him out at gigs but have never heard him speak, let alone sing.

“Ok, Johnny. I’m in.” It’s got to be better than the lumberyard.

After work, I go to Johnny and Angie’s new-to-me place. Angie cuts my hair and bleaches it blond. I’m surprised how good it looks.

“Damn, babe, you made Andy pretty,” Johnny teases.

“Andy is always pretty,” she says as she kisses my cheek lightly. “It’s good to see you looking like you again,” she whispers in my ear.

Johnny plays me a couple of melodies and I follow along on my bass. My face hurts from smiling so much. I really missed Angie and Johnny’s enthusiasm. With them, it is easy to believe this new group is going to rock.

“Johnny, do we have a name for the band?” I ask, realizing I don’t know.

“Andy,” he says, pausing for a dramatic effect,” we are The Smiths.”

The Following Week

At rehearsal, I discover this band is truly unique. When I first laid eyes on Steven, I had my doubts. He didn’t look at me or shake my hand when Johnny introduced us. He was tall, gaunt, and pale and dressed in a grandmotherly floral shirt and blue jeans at least three sizes to large for his skinny ass. He wore NHS glasses and his brown hair was shaved at the back and sides while his thick bangs were piled into an enormously tall quiff.

Johnny sat me down and played a few bars from a song he wanted us to learn. I joined in with a good, funky bass line and Simon joined in on the drums to keep us in time. Steven was pacing back and forth, pulling at his shirt and muttering to himself. 

“Almost ready, Mozzer,” Johnny called to our nervous, waif-like front man. Simon rolled his eyes. “Ok. Let’s give it a go” Johnny said, taking his place to the left of Steven with me on the right. “Suffer Little Children, Simon.”

Simon clicked his drumsticks together four times then started out in a frantic pace. This wasn’t what we had just practiced.

Steven turned and stared at Simon with intense blue eyes behind his glasses. “Simon, what the hell??” Johnny yelled.

“Oh. Sorry. Was trying to turn it into a banger,” Simon shrugged.

Once again, Simon clicked his sticks together four times and started a gentle, slow rhythm. This was more like it. Steven stepped up to the microphone. He opened his mouth and out came this crooning monotone heavily encased in a decidedly British accent. I’d never heard anything like it. It sounded almost eerie during the long, slow song.

“Ok now, let’s do ‘Hand In Glove’” Johnny beamed. This was one of the melodies I practiced at Johnny’s place. Johnny was radiating pure happiness. Steven started his crooning. I looked to Simon with a smile on my face. Simon looked as though he was listening to a metal fork scraping a plate. So then I just focused on my guitar, thumping out a great funky slap string beat. We sounded like no other band I’d ever heard. It was fucking awesome.

Steven pulled the microphone from its stand and began swinging it around. I had to jump back to avoid being hit in the face. He held the microphone in place and circled Johnny who just smiled and bobbed around him in the opposite direction. It was like some kind of weird hula dance between the two of them. I looked to Simon. He was bent over the drum kit with his face scrunched in misery.

“Where did you learn to sing like that?” I asked our willowy front man after we finished.

“I just opened my mouth and this is what comes out,” he answered in a pretty posh accent for Manchester. “Perhaps it is a divine gift or a sadistic curse.”

I have no idea how to respond so I stand there with my mouth half open.

“Your name is Andrew?” he questions, finally making eye contact.

“I prefer Andy” I say smiling into his blue eyes. “And you are Steven Morrissey?”

“I prefer just Morrissey. Steven is dead,” he says, his lips crinkling upwards at the corners into a tight smile.

“Shit,” Johnny says, joining our little introductory party.

“Ahh. The ever so eloquent Johnny Marr,” Morrissey coos.

“Well Simon just quit so we’ve got to find a new drummer.”

“Shit, indeed,” I say, seeing if I can get a response from Morrissey. He blatantly ignores me and tells Johnny he knows someone who might work. It’s like I’m not sitting between the two of them.

“Oh great, Moz. Bring him round when you can. I’ll ask around, myself,” Johnny answers.

Morrissey raises his eyebrows. Johnny purses his lips. I feel like I’m intruding on something. Morrissey and Johnny appear to be continuing their conversation through stares, blinks and furrowed brows.

“Well this was great,” I say quickly. “Let me know when we’re rehearsing again.” I snap my case shut and head toward the door.

“OK, right, Andy. Thanks for coming! You were fantastic “ Johnny says, momentarily awakening from his trance with Morrissey.

I’ve known Johnny since we were 11 and I’ve never seen him so into another person like what I just witnessed. No, that’s not true. I’ve seen it once before. With Angie.


	4. To Pretend To Be Happy Could Only Be Idiocy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Andy discovers being a member of a famous rock band isn’t as fabulous as he’d expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - Drug abuse, addiction, withdrawal
> 
> “Reality can fuck you over in ways you never imagined”

1984/85

The Smiths were my family once Mike became our drummer. He was friendly and talkative. He and I hit it off almost immediately. We even had our own female groupie following. The band would be together for 12 hour workdays, plus gigs, travel and just hanging out. 

Our tour bus reeked of pot. We'd all smoke to chill out after gigs. Mike and I joked that this was a great way to cope with the loss of meat in our diet since we were forced into vegetarianism by Moz and Johnny. No hypocrite carnivores allowed while promoting ‘Meat is Murder’. Moz would hole up in the back of the bus wanting no part of our weed fest, then Johnny would go check on him from time to time to make sure he wasn't too upset. 

"Bet Johnny's gonna make Moz sing," Mike snickered, elbowing me in the side.

"What you mean?" I was stoned out of my mind and staring out the window.

"You don't really think it takes an hour to see if someone's ok do you?"

"Has it been an hour?" I have no idea how long Johnny's been gone.

"At least," Mike snorts. "I wager two packs of cigarettes that they're getting jiggy back there."

If they are, I don't want to see it, for fucks sake.” I said. I don't have a problem with blokes doing blokes, but I don't want to see one of my best friends going at it with our lead singer. I didn't want to see him going at it with Angie, either. Angie. Wait. "There's no way he'd cheat on Angie with whingey Mozzer. He'd have to be an idiot." I tell Mike, once I remember how Angie fits into this picture.

"Come on, Andy. Pull your head out of the sand! You've seen them on stage. Shit, I thought our arms were gonna fall off having to play the outtro to "Barbarism" for so fucking long so they could DANCE together. Johnny even put down his guitar!" 

I shake my head. "No. It's just an act."

"Have you actually listened to the lyrics of 'Hand In Glove' or 'I Want The One I Can't Have'?"

"Well yeah, but that's all Moz. He can't have Johnny. Angie's got him," I insist.

"I'm settling this once and for all'" Mike says, standing up.

"What are you gonna do, join them?" I tease, because it just can’t be true. 

"Nope. I'm gonna march back there and use the loo. Just barge in all unannounced and sudden like."

I just laugh. "Whatever, mate. It's your eyes. You won't be able to unsee what you see!"

"Well according to you, there's nothing to see!"

"Damn strait!" I say. Johnny loves Angie. He’d never do anything to screw that up.

Mike holds up 2 fingers in front of my face. "Two packs of smokes. You will owe me!" And he strides to the back of the bus.

I face forward in case Johnny or Morrissey come storming out all angry and such. But no one does. I hear Moz yelp like he does in concert and Mike apologize. So Mike startled him. Morrissey is a delicate flower boy. It doesn't take much to surprise the man.

A minute later, Mike plops down beside me, a smug look on his face. "Two fucking packs. The good kind, not the cheap ones," he says triumphantly.

"They were fucking?" I ask incredulously.

"Well I didn't stop and ask, but they were both in the same fucking cot." 

"That doesn't necessarily mean they were doing anything.”

"Oh please. Moz yelped and ducked under the covers. Wouldn't even show his face."

I look behind me thinking Johnny would be on his way up here, mad, to set the record straight. Nope. “What did Johnny do?”

“All I could see was his head. I didn’t linger. I saw enough. Two packs!"

"Alright already. When we next stop, I'll buy them.” I feel a bit queasy. No way Johnny is cheating on Angie with Steven Morrissey. Moz is friends with Angie, as well. I can't believe they would do this to her.Now I'm all antsy and my brain won't shut the fuck up. Thanks a lot, Mike.

__________________________________

I like to shoot up after sound checks. I tell myself it keeps my nerves under control during gigs. Johnny and Mike were snorting cocaine to get pumped up before shows, so it wasn’t like I was the only one needing something “extra” for concerts. I wouldn’t be surprised if Moz was on something as well, the way he whirled and pranced and writhed around on stage. And I really needed something to keep thoughts of Johnny and Moz together out of my head.

I tried to limit how much I use. But that's the thing with heroin. Once you use it, you can't feel normal without it. I found myself sneaking away more and more to get high. The guys thought I was out hooking up with girls or out drinking with the roadies. That's one good thing about being a quiet person. You appear mysterious to everyone else. Little do they know that on the inside, my brain was firing 300 messages a minute and I was overwhelmed with feelings of inadequacy and disgust. The music journals would knock my bass playing because I used a pick instead of my fingers. I'd like to see them perform 7 minutes of "Barbarism Begins at Home" tuned up into F sharp and see how long their fingers would survive without a pick. I couldn't help but take those articles personally. And now this shit with Johnny,Angie and Moz. Could my best friend really be cheating on the perfect girl with a bloke? Outside, I was quiet. Inside, I was battling demons. Heroin was my best weapon. It silenced those demons. Too bad they would scream even louder once I came down off my high.

Johnny and Angie got married in California during our US tour. It was all spur of the moment. I was so relieved. Morrissey was Johnny's best man and Angie had Johnny's guitar tech give her away. So I’m pretty sure Mike was full of shit about what he saw on the tour bus. I think he just wanted me to buy him smokes. Mike and I spent a lot of time together since the newlyweds, as well as Moz, deserted us for the compartments in the back of the bus. The summer flew by as fast as the shows we played. We'd hammered out some fantastic new tunes during sound checks and even demo'd a few live and the audience loved it. We planned on going straight to the studio to record once we arrived back in the UK. It seemed like this album would come together so easily. But reality can fuck you over in ways you never imagined.

Mike was over at my flat watching movies. “Does it feel weird during rehearsals or is it just me?” I ask. 

“I bet it’s all the sexual tension between Moz and Johnny,” Mike suggested with an evil grin.

I throw a cushion at his head. 

“I’m sure it’s just that we’re all fucking tired from touring. I know I’d like some time off to spend with Tina,” he adds.

“Yet you’re here with me. I’m so flattered,” I joke.

“Well Tina’s in Edinburgh for work, so don’t get too excited.”

I’m grateful for his company. I wanted to rehearse as much as possible. As long as I was with the rest of The Smiths, my brain could focus. We played at Johnny's house most of the time. Moz was always over there whenever me or Mike dropped by. Angie was working as a photographer now. She was very good. She has a way with putting people at ease. She'd still hang with us when she wasn't working. Johnny seemed snippy. Maybe he really was just tired. Or maybe it was just all in my head.

I could understand why Morrissey would want to practically live at Johnny and Angie’s. Being alone is trouble. It’s when your brain races and you just can’t stop all the crazy and bad thoughts. I tell myself that heroin is just a little calming aid. Something to quiet my mind. But my mind was needing quieting all the time now. I timed rehearsals, breaks, travel, everything around shooting up. High was my normal mode of operation. So I was nice and mellow when it was time to travel to London to record what would become "The Queen Is Dead".

"We should really tour the continent this spring," Johnny was saying to Morrissey when I arrived at the studio.

"Why should we? They don't buy our records."

"That's exactly why we need to play live."

"I refuse to grovel on stage in Spain begging for love," Moz uttered, indignantly.

Johnny ran his fingers through his hair and pulled a cigarette from behind his ear. As usual, I stood there unnoticed by either man.

"Can't you go outside with your cancerous fumes? I'm sick of trying to sing through your smog," Morrissey whined.

Johnny stomped outside and I followed. Moz was definitely in a mood, something that I wanted to avoid. Morrissey tolerates me because I'm a good bass player, but I suspect he thinks I'm stupid and not really worth his notice.

"Trouble in paradise?" I ask Johnny, leaning casually against the rough brick building smoking my own cigarette.

"Just some disagreements on how to grow our fan base," he exhaled deeply, the smoke hanging in the heavy, damp air, just above our heads. "Do you like touring, Andy?"

"Yeah," I say honestly. "I like being with you, Mike and Moz. I like coming up with new music on the bus. And I love the fans and the audience. Makes me feel good, you know."

"I fucking hate it."

"What?" I think maybe I misunderstood. He was just arguing with Morrissey about touring more.

"I said I hate it." Johnny stomps his cigarette forcefully with his loafer, scattering ashes and embers across the pavement. "I hate planning where we're going. I hate talking to security. I hate when the food gets fucked up and there's nothing vegetarian. I'm sick of asking for a fucking tree to be in the green room. I hate that Angie can't be at all the gigs. I'm fucking sick of it."

I smoke in silence and stare down the street. It's cold. I'm shivering. And I feel the heroin leaving my body. I can’t really focus on Johnny’s words. A small trickle of sweat rolls down my back.

"Sorry, mate," Johnny says quietly, mistaking my silence for disapproval. "Didn't mean to unload on you like that. I love playing the gigs. It's not that. I just don't want to be in charge of everything all the time."

"So hire a fucking manager. Isn't that how it's supposed to work?" I say, a bit more harshly than I meant to. My voice is scratchy and deep. 

Johnny shakes his head and gives a sad, little laugh. "If it were only that easy, mate. Ahh let's go back in and get to work. Mike's just arrived."

My hand is shaking as I take one last drag from my cigarette. Shit. I don't know how I'm going to make it through this recording session.

"Hey, Johnny. I need to make a quick phone call. I'll be there in a minute."

Johnny nods and goes back into the building. I take off running as fast as I can to the nearest phone box. I pull a piece of paper from my wallet and shakily dial the numbers. I will get what I need soon.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"You alright, Andy?" Mike comes up to me during a break in the session.

"I'm not feeling well." What else can I say? I'm sweating and I feel green with nausea. I've totally fucked up my bass lines on 'Bigmouth' multiple times. I can't hold it together much longer.

"Maybe you should go have a lie down."

I didn't think to get a room in London and there is no way I'm driving back to Manchester tonight. Not like this.

"I just need something to eat. I'll have a snack once we're done." A blatant lie. There's no way I could keep any food down. The acquaintance I phoned earlier should have my heroin over in the East End. I close my eyes and try desperately not to implode.

Our sound engineer comes to my rescue. "I think we're ready for Morrissey on these two tracks. Does a thirty minute break work for you?"

"Perfect," I garble and am out the door before Mike can join me. Johnny and Moz don't even bother to look up.

But I don't make it back in 30 minutes. I don't make it back at all. I end up phoning Johnny at the studio.

"I'm so sorry, mate," my voice is trembling.

"Where the fuck are you?" Johnny's angry voice squawks through the line.

"I'm at the police station” 

——————————————————- 

I've thrown up five times while waiting for Johnny to fetch me out of here. My London acquaintance was actually an undercover police detective. Talk about kicking a man when he's down.

"You," a short, round guard points to me. "You can go."

I trudge to the front of the police station and face Johnny. His face is blank, no anger, no sadness, no nothing. I envy his lack of emotion and wonder if maybe he is on heroin, too.

"I'm so fucking sorry, Johnny."

He's says nothing. We get into his car in complete silence. I see we are traveling back towards the studio. "Are we still recording, then?" I lamely ask.

"No we are not," he replies in tight staccato syllables. He pulls the car over. "This couldn't have happened at a worse time." His hand goes to his face and he rubs his eyes with a thumb and forefinger.

"I'm sorry. I thought I had it under control." I keep apologizing like it will make a difference.

Johnny grabs my hands. "You don't understand," his brown eyes lock onto mine. He looks so lost, so completely unlike Johnny Marr. He breaks eye contact and stares instead at the steering wheel, still holding my hands. "Everything's falling apart. Steven doesn't listen to me like he used to. He..." Johnny let's go of my hands and grips the wheel. "My opinions aren't very important to him right now," he says grinding his teeth.

"Alright," I say, realizing he's not just talking about my arrest.

"Godammit, Andy! I can't talk my way out of it! He has his mind made up and honestly, I pretty much agree with him!" He turns to me and I'm startled at the defeated and shattered brown eyes that stare back at me.

He starts the car back up and the only sound is the engine and traffic noise. Once we reach the studio, he pulls behind my beat up car, parked where I left it yesterday. He grabs my bass from the backseat, hands it to me and drives off. I'm a bit shellshocked as I unlock the door and slide into the drivers seat. Then I see it. A postcard placed under the wiper on my windscreen. It reads "Andy. You have left The Smiths. Good luck and Good bye. Morrissey"

I stare at the note for an hour. Then I begin the long drive from London back to my flat in Manchester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morrissey always wanted a live plant in the green room. At first, flowers would suffice. Then he wanted something around three feet tall. This is just one example of the demands he put on band managers (Johnny).


	5. The Devil Will Find Work For Idle Hands To Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Andy battles addiction with a little help from his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - Drug abuse, withdrawals

1985 - Still

I don't know how I made it home from London, but I did. I loaded up on heroin as soon as I could. Fuck feelings. My goal in life is to not feel a thing. Every time I left my flat, it was in search of drugs. I grew more and more paranoid that the police were following me. So I added vodka to the mix. I asked my brother if I could move in with him because I no longer felt safe in my flat. And really, I couldn't afford it since I was now unemployed. Mike is helping me move. It's the first time I've seen any of my bandmates since I was fired.

"The new guy is shit on the bass. Just really flat, you know," Mike is saying as we carry the few belongings that were worth moving up the stairs.

"Maybe he'll get the hang of it," I really couldn't give a fuck. 

"I dunno. Johnny's losing his patience. The guy, Craig's his name, isn't horrible or anything. He's just really quiet and, well, not you. Johnny reams him every time he makes a mistake. Even Misery Guts is getting annoyed."

"With Johnny?" 

"No, with Craig. He won't come out and say it, but he misses you."

I snort,"That will be the day."

After Mike leaves, I shoot up and drink some vodka. I wait for the darkness to descend as I huddle in a blanket on my sofa.

That night, Angie visits me. I'm really surprised to see her here at my brother's place.

"Is your brother home with you?" she asks, not bothering to mask the concern on her face.

"Nah. He's staying with his girlfriend most of the time now." I have the blanket pulled around my head and body like some kind of hooded robe.

"Mike said you weren't doing well."

I just shrug and walk away from her. I'm still good and high safely protected from any sadness or remorse. "You want a drink?" I offer.

"No thanks," she says looking around the place. I haven't been here long enough to have made a mess so I'm not sure why she looks so upset right now.

"Johnny wanted to come by, but he has," she stops mid sentence, reconsidering her words. "Well he's a bit busy."

"So he sent you instead?"

A faint blush appears on her porcelain cheeks. "No, but after hearing Mike talk about your move, I thought maybe you could use some company."

"That's very thoughtful" I'm like a robot. Good, even monotone voice. 

We stare awkwardly at each other. "Shall we sit?" she motions toward my sofa.

"Why not."

We are now sitting and staring awkwardly at each other.

"Ok, I'm just gonna come right out and say it."

I'm fine with this. I like to watch Angie talk. Johnny is a lucky bastard to have her.

"You need to stop the heroin, Andy," she pauses as if this is some kind of huge revelation.

"Yeah, I know."

She puts a hand on my cheek. Her warm touch is startling. "Do you, though?"

I stare deep into those hazel eyes. They are brown, with flecks of gold and green rimming her pupils. I could get lost in them. She scoots closer to me. I shiver a little and feel the hairs stand up on my neck. "Can I have a look around the place?" she asks, close enough now for me to feel her breath on my cheek. I nod, mesmerized. She stands and I feel a cold chill from the loss of her body heat. How can one, small woman create so much warmth? Then I realize I'm coming down. And it dawns on me why she wanted to look around.

"Honestly, I don't have anything here."

She appears in the hallway with a dubious look on her face. "One of my friends dealt with this last month. I know how it works, Andy. I'm not stupid."

"I don't want to stop."

"So you want to kill yourself and mooch off your brother until you die?" Angie is not pulling her punches.

"I don't think I can stop."

"Yes, you can."

"It hurts too bad. I don't want to feel like that again. I don't want to feel." I'm starting to crumble. And I wasn't lying about not having anything here. I used the last of it earlier today. I was going out tonight for more. The dizziness is setting in so I quickly sit down and close my eyes.

Angie rushes over to me. "It's time, isn't it?"

I don't know what she means. "Time for what?"

"Time to quit. You're crashing, aren't you?" she says, very gently. She isn't judging me. I can feel it. Oh no. I'm starting to feel. I answer her by making a mad dash for the loo so I can throw up.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The flat is empty when I emerge from the bathroom. I ended up taking a really hot shower until I used up every bit of hot water, then I just sat in the steam. I know Angie's right. I have to stop. This is no way to live. But I'm not sure I know how to live properly. I've used so long, I don't remember what it's like.

There is a light tapping on the front door. I quickly pull on some drawstring warm ups and a hoodie before taking a few tentative steps to open it.

"I've brought you a 'Get Well' package," Angie smiles over a basketful of items. 

A container of fat, red strawberries catches my attention. "What's this?"

"My friend swore strawberries saved her life during detox. She said their sweetness was a pretty good substitute for drugs." Angie nervously looks down,"I thought it was worth a try for you, as well."

I'm speechless as she begins pulling food and medicines from her basket. "I'm going to fix you a cheese sandwich, but first you need to take this."

"What is it," I ask, eyeing the bottles suspiciously.

"Just some Nurofen and Pepto to take away some pain and tummy problems" she says rifling through my brother's kitchen in search of pans and the kettle.

I fumble with the bottles, but my hands are shaking too hard to open them so I pop a strawberry into my mouth, instead. "Holy shit, Angie. I think your friend might be on to something!" The strawberry disintegrates in my mouth and a wave of pleasure envelopes my taste buds.

She grins and sees the unopened bottles. Without questioning, she swiftly opens them and gives me a glass of tap water. As I swallow the medication, tears leak from the corners of my eyes.

"Andy?" 

I sink into one of my brother's plastic, yellow kitchen chairs and bawl like a baby. This doesn't seem to phase Angie at all. She continues to work on preparing food. I just let it all out. I've lost my place as the bassist of the best band in Britain. I've lost my self-sufficiency. I think I'm falling for my best friend's wife. I'm a slave to a substance. I'm a terrible, worthless shit of a human. I lay my head down on the dinette table and cry and cry.

Angie places a plate of food and a mug of tea in front of me. Then she pulls a matching ugly, yellow chair next to mine and sits. She wraps her arms around my middle and lays her head on my shoulder. "You are going to be alright, " she murmurs in my ear. I know I must be very sick. Her warm embrace and soft voice create a pool of desire in my belly. Thankfully, my body is so out of whack that my cock is pretty lifeless. It would be hard to disguise a stiffy in these pants.

"I have to go now, love," Angie says once I finish my meal. "You can watch these for a diversion. I think Steven has recorded every episode of 'Coronation Street' ever broadcast," she laughs, pulling out several VHS cassettes from the now empty basket.

I nod. There are not enough words in my vocabulary to express what I'm feeling right now. She gives a small wave as she lets herself out of the flat.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One Week Later

I'm dreaming that I'm digging ditches. I can see myself like I'm watching a movie. I'm old. Grey haired. Stopped over. I'm alone and I'm digging fucking ditches. And I've got nobody to blame but myself. The pain of this realization makes me cry in my dream. But instead of tears, muddy water runs down my face. A beautiful woman with a remarkable resemblance to Angie Marr, except with red hair, sees me in the street. She looks at me in disgust, turns around and walks the other way. I pick up the shovel and begin beating it on the pavement. The sound vibrates through my hands, shoulders and head. The sound is wrong. It should sound metallic. Instead, it sounds like knocking. I wake up. Someone is really knocking on the door. I haven't showered in days. Angie left town for a photoshoot. Maybe she's back early?

I slowly open the door and see Johnny's pale hand balled into a fist. He's looking down at the ground, completely lost in thought. He jumps as his fist strikes air instead of the wooden door.

"Shit! You scared me," he smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes. He looks rough. His hair is shorter than it was the last time I saw him. His usual ultra-styled and sprayed quiff is flat and hangs limply over his forehead. He has circles underneath his eyes that are as black as his jumper.

"I didn't think you could get any scrawnier." It's out before I can edit myself. It seems my filter left with the heroin. But his trousers are as baggy as Mozzer's.

"Fuck off. At least I don't smell like last week's rubbish," he says, grateful for the humor. "Can I come in?"

I open the door and feel flushed with embarrassment as he looks around.

"For fucks sake!" he motions to the empty beer cans and overflowing ash trays littering the counters, table and floor. The bin is overflowing with take away containers.

"Well, I'm off heroin," is all I can say. I haven't bothered to tidy up knowing Angie was out of town. And Mike doesn't care about the state of things when he drops by with food. This is the first time Johnny's bothered to see me. I guess Angie kept him up to date.

Johnny plops onto the couch after turning off the tv.

"To what do I owe the honor of your presence?" I say, not feeling very friendly.

"The band needs you."

"It does, does it?" I'm trying to decipher how this makes me feel. I read that processing feelings is key to kicking heroin, and definitely a weakness of mine. I think I'm hurt that he doesn't need me, just the band.

"You aren't going to make this easy, are you?" he sighs.

"Well I'm a risk to the band," I say waving my hand about the mess in the flat. "You see the state of things." I push dirty dishes from a side chair and sit. "I'm trying to crawl up from rock bottom, Johnny. I can't handle getting my hopes up that all is forgiven just to be thrown out on my arse again."

Johnny deflates before my eyes. "I can't do it without you, Andy. We hired a bloke from Aztec Camera. He's better at guitar than bass. He can't write an original bass line. So I'm having to do that, too. Morrissey even begged me to come talk to you."

"What do you need from me?"I ask. My worst fear is that he will want me as a session guy to finish up any new songs for the album and help with mixing and production. I could not handle it if they were to go on tour without me.

"Andy, you are the bassist for The Smiths. We need you to be our bassist. The sound is all wrong without you."

"What about Mr. Aztec Camera?" I say, struggling with the waves of emotions crashing in my head.

"Craig. He'll stay on for rhythm guitar. I'll be able to do more live, musically, with him." Johnny is tense. He looks at me through the strands of his bedraggled quiff. He's trying hard to be cool and calm. But he's not succeeding.

I sit back and close my eyes. I love Johnny. He's been my best mate for years. I owe my life to his wife, who I also love, maybe a little too much. I love The Smiths. They are my family. When I open my eyes, I stand. Johnny also stands up. I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his narrow shoulders. I bury my face in his jumper. He smells like cigarettes and cologne.

"Thank you," I whisper, choking back more tears. I'm so sick of crying. "Thank you for not giving up on me."

Johnny returns my hug. "You are one of my oldest mates and a fucking god on the bass. I would never give up on you."

"I gave up on me," I say, mainly to myself.

"Pull yourself together, mate!," Johnny says through a smile. "We have rehearsal tomorrow at 11am."

We both laugh. Johnny's entire demeanor has changed. He's back to Mr. Cool Rock Star. Damn. I agreed to do exactly what I love most in the world with the people I love most in the world. And I lifted a weight off Johnny's shoulders, just by being me. I think this is the first time I've ever felt so important. And I'm sober. Who would have thought it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this was an unexpected chapter. I know I need smut. But I gotta admit, it skeers me. I will attempt it in the next chapter. If you've made it this far through this story, thank you, thank you, thank, you. I've got two endings in mind for this and will probably end up posting one as an epilogue, if I ever get there.


	6. This Night Has Opened My Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Andy learns the true nature of Johnny and Morrissey's relationship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. I'm attempting smut. I hope it isn't too cringey for you. I know it will be cringey for me.

1986

I was welcomed with hugs from Mike and Moz and a shy wave from Craig when I returned to the studio to finish recording The Queen Is Dead. I thought it was our best album to date and I wasn't alone. Some of the big record labels were sniffing around us, trying to ascertain how happy we were with our current label.

"I think we should jump ship," Morrissey told Johnny. "Rough Trade cannot handle the demand. We've lost chart position because they didn't manufacture enough singles. It's ridiculous."

"That's what happens with a small, independent label," Johnny replied. "Rough Trade is growing with us. There's bound to be a few gaffes in the process."

"I've talked to some people in the 'know' about it. They agree with me. It's time to leave," Moz says haughtily. "I'll give you their numbers. You can ring them if you don't believe me."

"Give me the numbers," Johnny sighs, wearily. "I'm just not sure this is the right time to do this."

"What time could be better? This will be our biggest release in the states and Britain. We need someone who knows how to do it right."

Everything must have checked out with Johnny because the next week we were on a conference call with EMI. Then the shit hit the fan.

"What do you mean we owe Rough Trade two more LP's?" Morrissey practically snarled.

"You and Johnny agreed to it when you signed your contract. It is spelled out in black and white. Rough Trade faxed it over. We cannot represent you. It would be highly unethical as well as illegal," the disembodied voice of the EMI executive crackled through the speaker.

Morrissey pushed away from the table and walked quickly out the door. Johnny had his head in his hands. Mike, Craig and I just looked at each other, not sure what all this meant to us.

"We didn't read the fucking contract," Johnny muttered through his tightly clenched fingers. He stood and pounded the table with a fist. "We didn't have a clue what the fuck we were signing!"

"In your defense, you were only a teenager," Mike tried to add helpfully.

"We need a manager. We still don't know what the fuck we are doing!" Johnny took a deep breath, lit a cigarette and announced, "Ok boys. Let's get rounded."

Mike and I immediately hopped up to join Johnny. Craig just shook his head and said he was going home. I felt bad for the bloke. It must be really difficult to fit in with us. But that wasn't going to stop me from joining my friends at the pub.

The three of us piled into Johnny's car and drove to his house. He gave Angie a call to tell her which pub we were at so she could join us after work. We'd been drinking for two hours when she arrived.

"Where's Moz?" she asked, her eyes flitting around the pub searching for his tall, skinny presence.

"He left after the phone call," Johnny slurred.

"Hope he's not got his head in his oven trying to off himself," offers Mike.

"Nah. Knowing Mozzer, he's writing some vicious lyrics about how the music biz is utter shite," Johnny says.

"I'm going to drive round to see if he's home and wants to join," Angie said, reaching her hand into Johnny's trousers pocket for his keys. Johnny gives her a clumsy kiss as she leaves.

"I'm cutting myself off at midnight. Gonna have to scout out managers tomorrow. I am done handling all this shit," Johnny announces.

I have no idea what time it was when Angie returned. I was sloshed.

"Well, if he's home, he's not answering, " Angie says, sliding in next to Johnny. "I slid a note telling him our location under the door."

About two more rounds of drinks later, Moz comes stumbling in.

"So you started without us then," says Johnny after appraising the singer's drunken state.

"Rough Trade can kiss my arse.”

Johnny orders yet another round and tells Morrissey about his search for a manager.

"We'll never find anyone. They're a part of the rrrracket," he stutters on the r. "We are outsiders."

"We are fucking idiots, Mozzer. We didn't even know what our contract said."

Morrissey sucks down his pint with disdain.

"Look.I'll find a couple of blokes and run them by you. I'm sure there is at least one person out there we both will like."

Then there is no more business talk. Just a lot of drinking and laughing. Tina shows up to fetch Mike and it's just the four of us.

"That's it for me," Johnny says, checking his watch.

"Can I stay overrr?" Morrissey asks Johnny and Angie. "I don't think I could find my way home tonight if I tried."

"Of course, Mozzer," Johnny says, playfully punching him in the arm.

"Well you don't have to be violent," Moz rubs his shoulder.

"Andy, you should stay over, too," Angie says.

I nod in response. I don't think I could make it home by myself tonight, either.

We all walk down the sidewalk with our arms linked at the elbows like a tipsy daisy chain until we arrive at the house.

"I'll take the couch." I stake my claim by belly flopping onto the worn, plaid sofa.

The others march upstairs and Angie returns with a pillow and a blanket.

"You tucking me in?" I ask, raising my eyebrows in a drunken attempt at wit or flirtation.

"Sure thing, love," Angie laughs as she covers me with the blanket. "Sweet dreams." She kisses me on the forehead. I am asleep before she makes it back up the stairs.  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

My bladder awakens me. It's still dark out. The house is quiet. The loo is upstairs, just past the guest room. I try to be quiet so as not to disturb Mozzer. From the landing, I can see that his door is open. I tip toe down the hall and glance into the guest room as I pass. It's empty. The bed is made. Doesn't look like it was slept in at all. Moz must've gone home sometime earlier in the night.

Once I'm done, I try to quietly stagger back to the stairs. I still feel a bit drunk when I hear voices from the master bedroom.

"Oh baby, just like that. Don't stop, love." Johnny's voice floats toward me. The bedroom door is ajar.

"Mmmm, Johnny. You taste so good."

What the actual fuck! That was a baritone, not Angie's soft lilt. I must still be drunk because I find myself irresistibly drawn to that cracked bedroom door.

"Steven, oh my God!" That's Angie's voice, but it doesn't sound like she is angry. Far from it.

Here it is, the moment of truth. I steal a quick peak into the bedroom, but there is no way I could've prepared myself for what I'm seeing. My stomach drops and my heart shatters. Johnny and Moz are locked in an embrace. Johnny's got both hands tangled in Moz's hair. I can't see Moz's hands. He's licking the underside of Johnny's outstretched tongue. But the thing that kicks me in the bollocks is that lying between my two bandmates is Angie. She is gloriously naked, her head is thrown back and her eyes are closed. She is gripping Johnny's cock with her right hand and Moz's with the left. She is stroking them, rubbing a lazy circle around the tip of Moz’s dick with her thumb. Then she takes Johnny into her mouth. He deepens his kiss with Moz and both men moan. Somehow, I manage to stay quiet. I feel like I've been punched in the face. My vision blurs and my head is filled with buzzing static. Come on, Andy. Don't pass out now. 

Eventually, I make my way back downstairs. My cock is straining against my jeans, yet I feel oddly hollow inside. I must be hallucinating. Someone put something in my drinks. Maybe I'm still really drunk. This can't be real. Maybe I'm sleepwalking. 'It's not real' becomes my mantra as I curl up on the couch. It's not real. Go to sleep. It's not real. It’s not real. Please don’t let this be real. I will myself back to sleep.  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ _

Light flickers across my eyelids as I slowly ease my way back to consciousness. My tongue feels swollen and stuck to the roof of my mouth. I really need some water but when I sit up, I see Angie dressed in a tank top and shorts, a dark blue robe draped loosely over her shoulders. She is wearing pink bunny slippers on her feet. Such an ethereal pixie is Angie and I swallow the lump forming in my throat. I focus on my throbbing headache instead of other parts of my body which may or may not be throbbing.

"Oh hello, Andy. I hope I didn't wake you. I just put the kettle on."

I just nod and blink at her. I feel like a moldy bridge troll, no ethereal beauty in me at all. I am so confused right now. 

"Did Moz leave?" Oh good one, Andy. Way to be subtle.

"No. He was showering when I came down." Her back is to me as she speaks so I really can't read her body language.

I yawn and stretch and walk to the kitchen still wrapped in the blanket.

"Did I hear that tea is imminent?" It's Morrissey. He glides down the stairs dressed in yesterday's clothes. His hair is wet and slicked back from his face. He has an uncharacteristic pink glow to his skin.

"Hot shower, Mozzer?" Oh God. What is wrong with me? Why can't I keep my mouth shut?

He fixes his blue eyes onto my face. A shadow seems to pass through his expression with a slight furrow of his eyebrows. It's like he's noticed a rat in the kitchen. "Oh, Andy. I didn't realize you were still here."

"That's funny. I was just asking Angie if you had left." Shut up, Andy, for Christ's sake.

"Alas, we are both present and waiting for tea, toast and headache powders. Or at least I am." He focuses his attention back to Angie.

"Johnny awake?" I address the general kitchen area because apparently I'm just a glutton for punishment this morning.

"No," Angie begins, but Morrissey cuts her off with a laugh. "Johnny will be out for hours. He was a very busy boy last night," he says.

"Tea is ready," says Angie, louder than necessary, staring directly at Moz, looking very stern for someone wearing bunny slippers.

"Um, well, I'm going to pop upstairs to the loo and brush my teeth. I feel like my mouth might be growing moss." Brilliant, Andy. Just brilliant.

Morrissey waves his hand toward the stairs," By all means, go. We would all appreciate a moss-free smile at the table."

Once I make it to the bathroom, I sit on the toilet trying to sort out this bizarre world that I've entered. What the fuck? Mike said there was something going on between Moz and Johnny. I take time to process this. Those two are pretty much best mates now. They write songs, alone, together. Then there are the lyrics of the songs. Even the ones on our new album. Maybe especially the ones on our new album. The lyrics to "I Know It's Over" come to mind. 'Sad veiled bride please be happy. Handsome groom, give her room. Loud, loutish lover treat her kindly though she needs you more than she loves you.' Yes, there are three distinct people mentioned in the song, as well as a mum, but that just overcomplicates things.

I splash some water on my face and run my hands through my hair to get it to lay down, or at least not stick out in unexpected places. I squeeze some toothpaste onto my finger and rub my teeth. Rinse, spit, repeat. A glance in the mirror shows I'm acceptable. 'I know it's over, still I cling. I don't know where else I can go.' That pretty much sums up my feelings at this point.

The door to the master bedroom is now wide open. I descend the stairs, slowly and stealthily. At the landing, I have a good view of the kitchen table. I can see Johnny dressed in black track pants and a snug t-shirt. Angie is sitting in his lap.Her legs are stretched out onto Morrissey's lap. Moz is fondling her slippers. All three look relaxed and happy.

"I feel soooo much better," I call out loudly as I finish my descent down the stairs. 

Angie pops up and gets another tea cup from a cabinet for me. She sits next to Johnny and I take a seat beside Moz.

"How are you feeling today, Johnny?" I ask, a loaded question if ever such a thing existed.

"I'm still knackered, but at least I'm not hungover."

"Well that's good I guess. I'm hungover, but I slept like the dead." I wish. I am dead inside, though. 

"That would be a dream come true for me," Morrissey can't resist saying.

I think I threw up in my mouth a little. Ugh. "I figured with all the drinks last night, you'd have managed it," I say, looking straight at him.

His face turns red and he is suddenly all consumed with his tea. He fingers the cream colored cup, sloshes the liquid around a few times then dips a biscuit.

"I'll have to interview managers today," Johnny says, seemingly oblivious to Moz's (and my) discomfort. "Mozzer, do you want to stay to oversee the candidates?"

"Oh no. I'll leave it in your capable hands. Let me know when you have a few favorites. I'll weigh in on them." He stands after taking a final swig of tea. "Thank you for the bed and breakfast, Mr.& Mrs. Marr. I'm heading back to my flat. Must feed the cat you know." And he was out the door. Charming.

"I can help clean up," I say. Busyness beats awkwardness.

"We're fine," both Marrs say in unison. "Go on home. I'm sure you'll want to get out of those clothes," says Angie and Johnny bursts out laughing, shaking his head.

"Get your mind out of the gutter." She pops Johnny playfully on his head.

"Well I'll be off then." I'm halfway out the door with my back to them so they won't see me blush.

"See you Monday, " Johnny calls out as the door slams closed.

What the actual fuck? Mike got it all wrong. I got it all wrong. What am I feeling? I’m feeling like I really don't want to examine this right now. Right now, I want to get on a bus to my dealer's neighborhood. I want to fall off the wagon and let it run over me.

A bus is stopping just ahead. I manage to catch it and get on, not caring where it is going. Visions of Angie roll around in my head. Angie. Always around, but never in the media. She prefers it that way. A badass in the background. She got me through heroin detox. She makes me feel special. Johnny joins her in my thoughts. Johnny was my best friend. Guess he's not now. I hate Morrissey. Why do I hate him and not Johnny and Angie? 

I realize the bus is really close to Mike’s neighborhood. I pull the signal and trudge to Mike's house.

"What's wrong?" he says as soon as he sees it's me at his door.

"Is it that obvious?"

"You look like your dog died.”

"I'm just really hungover and need something stronger than headache powders."

He gives me an all-knowing look. "I don't think that's a good idea, mate."

I growl and push my way into his flat.

"Seriously, Andy. Why don't you just talk about whatever's going on. You know like it says in your rehab papers."

"I Am Hungover," I reiterate.

"Bollocks. You've never asked for weed for a hangover before. Maybe talk to Angie if you don't want to talk to me."

"Just give me a goddamn joint!" 

Mike’s eyes widen, but he goes into his bedroom and retrieves a small box. "This is all I've got rolled,” he says as he hands it to me.

I waste no time in lighting one up. "Sorry, mate. I didn't mean to shout. I just needed something to take the edge off this...hangover."

He pats me on the back. "I guess it's not as bad as heroin." 

It's not as good, either, but I keep those thoughts to myself. I'm trying to squelch my feelings here. That once again, as always, I'm not good enough. Am I really jealous that Johnny and Angie chose Moz over me for a threesome? Has my life come to this? I take a few more drags off the blunt. "This is good stuff, Mike."

"You're a bad influence," he says, lighting one up himself.

We smoke in silence, letting ourselves escape reality for a short time. I'm done thinking about last night. This morning. Whatever. It's really not my business. None of my concern. I tell myself I'd rather not get involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was my attempt at smut. Am blushing during the editing. If anyone is reading this, I hope you liked it (in a literary way, not a creepy one).
> 
> And yeah, there are plenty of ‘Strangeways’ lyrical references and nods in this chapter.


	7. No, It's Not Like Any Other Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Angie confides in Andy after a dramatic day in Smithdom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the beginning of the end.

1987

I'm sitting in my favorite chair in my own flat watching 'East of Eden' for like the 150th time when there is a knock at my door.

"Hello, Andy.” It’s Angie. At my flat. Alone. I motion her inside because it is cold and windy out there today. Her face looks frozen, no color on her high cheekbones. She looks exactly how I feel right now. I’m sure the blood has drained from my face as well. We are both statues in need of refurbishing. Our faces might crack and crumble with one false move. She takes a cigarette and a lighter from my sofa table, sparks it up and draws the smoke deep into her lungs. She exhales with the power and fury of an angry dragon. I'm trying not to notice what a turn on it is to watch Angie smoke. She plops onto the sofa with a sigh.

"I'm really worried about Johnny."

I try to focus on James Dean, but her words bring this morning's drama front and center in my brain.

There is always tension when we record. Johnny believes this to be a key ingredient to our success. No one can deny the passion contained in our music. I really thought things were going as smoothly as possible for The Smiths. Morrissey finally relented about Johnny experimenting with different instruments and sound. We had Ken, our new American manager, taking over day to day and future business operations. Angie came down to Bath for the duration of the recording, taking pictures, staying close to Johnny and Moz. I kept my distance from the trio. Mike and I hung out at the pubs. It all seemed pretty uneventful, but very tiring. 

Today we were supposed to begin filming a music video for our upcoming single. None of us were thrilled with this development. We are musicians, not actors. The whole idea of it was just awkward and embarrassing, to be honest. But Ken said we needed to do it to promote the album in America. The states couldn't get enough of their MTV and if we wanted airplay in the US, a video became a necessity. Ken found a lovely lady director who catered to Morrissey's ego. She agreed the video for "Girlfriend in a Coma" would be made up of movie clips from Moz's favorite classic films with shots of us performing intermingled through out. We all agreed to this. I'm ok with being filmed playing my bass. It's what I do. We all could just be ourselves.

So we were to meet at Johnny's in-home studio this morning at 9am. That was a bit early for Mike and I, but pretty normal for Johnny and Mozzer. Johnny was anxious when Mike and I arrived.

"Is Morrissey with you?" he had asked, his brown eyes darting from us to the door then to Ken.

"No, mate," Mike answered, looking at me.

"I'm sure he'll be here any minute" I added, not looking at anyone. I wasn't sure at all. Moz was the early bird of our little crew. He was never late. Unless he refused to participate. Which was happening more and more. Like when we were supposed to fly to Japan for a few gigs and he didn't bother to show up to the airport. Or when he was scheduled for an interview with a magazine he did not like.

I pasted a smile on my face and got to work tuning my bass. I wasn't going to be the one to point out the obvious. 

"I'm this close to calling the police on that son of a bitch," Ken muttered, his face red with frustration.

"Let's just go over to his place. Maybe he misunderstood the time, " Johnny wearily said. "Or maybe he will come out when he realizes he can't hide from us."

So Johnny, Ken and the lady director headed out in search of Morrissey while me, Mike, the film crew and now Angie were left behind. It was an awful, awkward situation that lasted for an hour and a half.

"I feel like I've failed, " the lady video director wailed as she re-entered the house. "I thought I had earned his trust!"

"He's a goddamn singer, not a wild animal that needs to be tamed!" Ken yelled.

"Where's Johnny?" asked Angie.

"He was beating on the door of Morrissey's home, screaming obscenities and threatening to dissolve the band when we left him." Ken was clearly disgusted. "Someone may have called the police on him by now, carrying on about betrayal like some jilted lover, " Ken added, shaking his head.

The blood drained from Angie's face and she quickly left the room.

"You might as well go home," Ken told us. "This isn't happening today or maybe ever. I'm very sorry for wasting your time. Somebody is going to pay for this!"

"He's drunk again." Angie's voice snaps me back to the present.

"Again?" I ask, staring at the tv.

"He's been drinking ever since we got back from Bath. Well, he was drunk a lot in Bath, as well," she shakes her head sadly. "How are you fairing?" she asks, looking directly into my eyes.

I try to hold her gaze, but have to look away. If eyes really are the window to the soul, I don't want her to see what's in mine. I was also drunk a lot in Bath. I could use a drink right now but don’t say this to Angie. "I'm stone cold sober, though I'd like to be stoned," I say trying to be funny.

"He's using cocaine, too, you know." Her voice drops to a whisper.

Johnny and I always messed around with drugs as kids. It was always a harmless thing. At least for Johnny. I still struggle, probably always will. I don't know what to say to Angie.

"Why are you telling me this?" I hope she doesn't blame me for Johnny's drug use.

She lights another cigarette and looks out the window. "I needed to talk to someone. Mike would get the wrong idea if I just showed up at his place. And besides, we've been friends since we were 14, you and Johnny even longer."

I'm stuck on Mike getting the wrong idea. About what, exactly?

"Andy?" She waves her cigarette in front of my face. "Maybe this was a bad idea," she says with a frown.

"No, no. I'm sorry. It's just been such a weird day." I owe it to her to hear her out. She was there for me when I needed someone. It's time to return the favor. "What would you like me to do?"

She crushes the fire out of her cigarette in the ashtray, then draws her legs to her chest on the sofa.

"I want to tell you a story and I need you to promise not to judge."

"Of course. I'm in no place to judge anyone. You can tell me anything."

"Can you keep this between us? Don't tell Johnny, Steven or Mike. Please?"

I nod but am suddenly nervous. My mouth has gone dry.

"You know Johnny and I are a tad...unconventional, right?" She pauses and I nod once again so she will continue. "My parents are rather free spirits. They believe life is for living and you should pursue what you enjoy. So when Johnny came along, I fell for him quickly and completely. I just knew our life together was going to be a grand adventure. I dearly love his passion and determination. He makes believe anything and everything is possible for us."

Her eyes are tearing up. I get us a couple more ciggies and she gives me a warm, appreciative smile.

"Yeah, his passion for music is how we became friends. If it weren't for Johnny, I'd probably be a factory worker who once played a guitar like shit. He's the one who encouraged me to tackle the bass." I know Angie knows this, but I wanted to give her a chance to recover and maybe decide if she really wishes to continue this conversation.

She props her ciggie in the ashtray and goes on with her confession. "I knew as soon as Johnny returned from Steven's house the first time that he must be someone very special. Johnny couldn't stop talking about him. He asked me not to be home the first time Steven came to ours. He was afraid I'd scare him away!"

"Johnny's always looking out for others."

"Yeah. And that's probably why we're in this mess. When I finally met Steven I thought he was brilliant and funny and adorably awkward. He and Johnny were like two sides of the same coin. It was really quite surreal watching the two of them write together. Johnny was absolutely smitten."

"Smitten?"

Angie was smoking again, the smoke leaving her lips in a thin ribbon. "I can't think of a better way to describe it, Andy. They were in love."

I am silent as I digest this information. I exhale smoke from my own ciggie as I sigh. "So what did you do about it?"

Angie is tough. Even though I can guess what she is going to say, she holds my gaze with no sign of any embarrassment. "I did what I always do. I followed Johnny. I loved Steven, too." She turns away from me then and looks out the window at the grey sky. "How could I not? Steven is like the shadow image of Johnny. A bit taller, more brooding and melancholy, but another beautiful soul."

I stand, turn off the telly and walk to the kitchen. "Tea?" I ask the back of her head. Angie is tough but she isn't bulletproof. I want her to feel comfortable. As comfortable as possible for a person disclosing the fact that she is trying to love two men who are in love with each other. The back of her head bobs up and down slightly, so I take this as a yes. I am at a loss for words. Nothing new, mind you. Words aren't my thing. I don't know what my thing is. I do know that I'm fighting erotic visions of Angie and the memories of the three of them together at their house. And a strange sadness that I'm on the outside. And guilt that I want to be on the inside.

"At first it was so exciting," Angie stops my mind from rambling on. "We were like our own little solar system revolving around each other and Johnny was the sun, holding us steady."

Angie joins me in the kitchen. I make sure that my front side stays pressed against the counter. This is absolutely the wrong time for a hard on.

"What do you think about love, Andy?" she asks, resting a hand on my shoulder. Her touch is almost unbearable at this point and that question impossible for me to answer.

"Well, um, uh," I fumble my words. "I don't really have much experience with love." I pray for the kettle to heat quickly so I have something, anything, to keep me busy.

"But you must have ideas about it. Do you believe in soulmates?"

Dear God, the water is taking forever to boil. A watched pot and all that I guess. Maybe I could put the kettle on my face. It feels like it's on fire with embarrassment. "I don't know, Angie. I haven't really thought about it. But if I had to guess, I don't think I've a soul mate out there. I think it's all physical attraction and lust and if you get on well together, well good on you," I blurt.

"I think you are wrong," she says firmly and gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze.

My groin goes up in flames just as the kettle whistles. I'm thinking of adding whiskey to my cup.

"What about you? Do you have multiple soulmates? Is that even possible?" I ask, walking to the kitchenette table.

"I don't think there is a limit on love." She stirs some milk into her tea.

"I know there's different types out there. Like you love your mum and dad. And you love your mates. And that kind of love keeps growing. With more people," I quickly add. "I've never really thought that much about it. I guess I always believed the fairy tale thing. You find that one person. You have a special connection and if you fuck it up, it's over." I look at Angie's face and imagine her arms around me. I can almost feel her body against mine. I turn my attention back to my tea.

"Why can we be capable of endless platonic love and only have one shot at romance?" she says as she covers my hand with hers.

I stare at our hands. Her fingers are small yet strong. My jeans are growing uncomfortably tight. I can't think clearly yet I manage to open my mouth and say something stupid. "I mean you can screw whoever you like, but I'd always thought you'd have a deeper connection with only one person."

Angie pulls her hand away. "You think I'm a slut."

"What?! No! I was referring to myself!" My face is bright red.

"I only get physical with people that I love, Andy. It's not just sex to me."

"Look, I'm sorry I upset you. You asked what I thought of love and I told you. I really don't know anything about it. I've never been in love, I don't think. Just lust. And sex and release." This is sad, but the honest to God truth from me.

We sit in silence and then she quietly says," That would be so much easier."

"What?"

"I think I love them both, Andy. And I think they both love me. That's a lot of feelings and responsibilities and complications." She sips her tea. "We were so naive, me and Johnny. Thought all you need is love. The more, the merrier, ta la. But Steven is so different. He loves with desperation. He loves with control. And he lashes out when he thinks despair is overtaking his control. Especially at Johnny." She drops her head in her hands. "Oh God, it's such a mess."

Despite my better judgement, I go over to Angie and begin stroking her hair. "That doesn't sound like love to me."

She looks up, her eyes shining with uncried tears. "It has to be. I can't bear the thought that it's not." A single tear rolls down her cheek. "I still believe that love is limitless." A fierce expression takes over face, banishing the tears. "My love is a gift. It is my choice who I share it with. If I give my love to multiple people, that does not lessen my gift to either of them. They are equal. Love is not a pie. There isn't a finite number of slices."

"But, Moz, I mean Steven, doesn't see it that way?"

Angie sadly shakes her head. "He takes it out on Johnny. And it's killing him. When he crashed the car last month, I really think he was trying to kill himself."

"What? No way. He'd had too much to drink is all. It was stupid, but not suicidal!" We'd all kidded Johnny about wanting a neck brace to make Moz envious, once we found out Johnny was gonna be ok.

"He came to his senses at the last moment."

"Did he tell you this?"

"I know Johnny. Better than I know myself. He's numbing himself with alcohol. He won't feel pain if he's drunk."

I know this to be true. Heroin works even better.

"Johnny and I are going on holiday once all this video business is settled. I'm letting you know so you won't worry. Johnny's going to tell Mike and Ken."

"Where are you going?"

"Not saying. I don't want anyone to disturb us. Not the band, not the media, not Ken. Not even Steven."

"How's he taking this news?"

"You saw what happened today. I'm afraid this is the tip of the iceberg." She walks to the sink to deposit her empty tea cup. She looks me in the eyes. "He is hurting Johnny so much. He tried to warn us that he was terrible at relationships."

"I'm sorry you are going through this." I pull her to me for a friendly, loose hug. She sinks her head into my chest.

"Andy?" she breathes into my shirt.

"Yes, love?"

"I don't think Steven loves me. I was so worried I was going to lose Johnny to him. I'm afraid of what I've become."

I hold her tighter. "Johnny loves you. I'm sure Steven does, too. You are quite lovable, you know."

"Thank you for being such a good friend and letting me talk. I couldn't turn to anyone else."

I give her shoulder a squeeze then her small hands drift up and cup my face. She pulls me closer and I feel her heat and her curves. I bend towards her and our lips connect. "I love you, Andy," she whispers after the brief kiss. She sighs and untangles herself from my embrace. "I've got to go home and see if Johnny's passed out yet."

And then she is gone. I slide to the floor of my kitchen, tingling with desire. I hug my knees to my chest, a feeble attempt to keep my confusion and loneliness at bay. This is going to end badly, I'm afraid. For all of us.


	8. The Passing Of Time Leaves Empty Lives Waiting To Be Filled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which The Smiths are a double decker bus hurtling toward catastrophe and Andy is merely a passenger who can't catch a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first version of the end.

1987 - The Day After Chapter 7

After all the drama of yesterday, it was decided that meeting at the studio would be a more neutral environment. I decide to show up at 8am sharp, an hour early. Maybe I can serve as a distraction for Morrissey. He rarely throws a full on tantrum in front of me or Mike. Rarely. And I'll gladly take the brunt of one of his tantrums if it can give Johnny and Angie a break.

As I walk through the door, I see I'm not the first to arrive. Moz, Johnny and Angie are in the sound booth. No one else, though. No manager, film director or camera crew. I enter the open rehearsal space unnoticed.

"He has to go! He is turning us in the wrong direction! He doesn't take any of my thoughts seriously!" Morrissey is shouting at Johnny so loud I can hear him through the plexiglass.

"Dammit, Steven! He isn't telling us anything different from what we already know. And he takes care of so many details that you never see, you selfish twat!"

"Don't call me Steven! Couldn't you at least find a British manager who's more familiar with how we do things?"

"No!" Johnny shrieks. "No one in the UK wants us. Especially after that shit you pulled yesterday. We are unmanageable!"

Morrissey is quiet and thoughtful for the moment. He speaks to Johnny and Angie in a soft voice, too soft for me to hear.

Whatever it was didn't sit well with Johnny. He kicks a stool into the wall. "I can't do it! I can't be the creative force the band needs..the partner that you need and manage all this day to day shit that you can't be bothered with!"

Again, Moz speaks softly. He takes Angie's hand and reaches for Johnny. Johnny jerks away from his grasp and grabs Angie's free hand. "You are my fucking best mate! I always have your back! I back you up in public even when I don't agree with you! For Christ's sake, I share EVERYTHING with you! And you can't do this one thing for me?!" Johnny's brown eyes are wide with panic and desperation. He tries to tug his wife closer to him, but Moz won't let go. Angie is being pulled like a lump of taffy. "How can you treat me like this? I'm your partner! I found you! I love you! You have to give me this. Please, Steven. I'm fucking begging you!"

Morrissey releases Angie and opens the sound booth door. I plaster myself against the wall of the rehearsal room. He walks past me and straight out of the studio. His face is expressionless and his blue eyes are shuttered. I don't think he saw me at all. The sound of breaking glass fills the studio and Johnny is storming towards the door. Pieces of what was once a coffee mug are strewn in tiny shards about the tile. Again, I'm invisible. Johnny begins screaming for Morrissey as he exits the studio and slams the door behind him. It is so quiet now I can easily hear the ticking of the clock on the wall. It is 8:15 am.

Angie is doubled over in a chair inside the sound booth. Her dark bangs reach almost to her wrists as her hands hide her face; she is alone and forgotten. She sits up suddenly and catches me staring at her. Her cheeks are flushed from the argument. I drop my gaze to her mouth as her tongue flicks across her upper lip. She has a lonely, pleading look on her face and I can't get into the sound booth fast enough. We are in each others arms the moment I step in the room. She is so warm and I can feel the muscles in her back as she wraps her arms tightly around me. I don't want this embrace to end. We are hot, lonely and needy.

"I'm so sorry," I say, running my hands up and down her sides. She snuggles even closer to me and I can feel her breasts against my chest. I pull her hips to mine and I know she can feel exactly how much I want her. I nuzzle her hair and murmur apologies into the softness of it. At this point, I have no idea what I'm apologizing for, as this is what I've been dreaming of for years.

Angie reaches up and strokes my cheek with her soft, slender fingers. I turn my head and snatch one of them into my mouth, suckling and nibbling on it. Her eyes are blown wide with desire. A good friend would pull away from this intimacy. A good friend would dial back the passion. But I don't want to be a good friend today. I want her. Badly. And if Johnny and Moz are too daft to appreciate this strong, sexy woman, to hell with them.

"You deserve so much more than this," I say as I lean down to kiss her. It's my way of saying I'm sorry for taking advantage of this situation. But she does deserve more than having to fight for attention from her two lovers. I want to show her what she deserves and I want to prove myself worthy of her attention.

Our lips are locked together. She presses her pelvis, grinding against my erection. I moan into her mouth and her fingers stroke the back of my neck. My body is shaking, ready to explode. She opens her mouth and I slip my tongue in, caressing the roof gently, tasting a mixture of mint and cigarettes. I'm going crazy with need. I grasp the backs of her thighs and lift her off the ground. She wraps her legs around my waist in response. I manage to back her up to the soundboard so that she is perched on its edge, the perfect height for me to thrust between her legs. She clutches my hair and gasps.

"Oh, Andy. My Andy." Her voice is enough to make me cum, but I hold myself back. I want to be inside her. Now.

"Oh God. Angie!" I'm almost whimpering as I fumble with my belt.

She brings me in even closer by tightening her legs around my arse. For one second she pulls back and looks me over with her eyes half closed. She murmurs," My choice. My gift. To you." and she undoes her jeans and slides them off one leg.

I look down and my cock throbs impatiently. Her legs are milky white and I see her firm muscles as she wraps them back around me. I finally get my trousers and pants off and lean forward so that I'm rubbing my dick into the crook of her hip. I can feel the heat and wetness from between her legs. I take a deep breath and back away slightly. I want to be absolutely sure. "Do you want this, love?" My body is trembling and I long to feel her under me, around me so I can thrust into her over and over until she screams my name in pleasure.

She answers by grabbing my hips and directing me toward her center. I can feel my tip pressing into her sweet warmth and moisture.

"Oh my God!" Angie is unlocking her legs and her eyes are wide as reality suddenly hits her. "I'm sorry. I can't do this, Andy. I want to, but I can't. It's too much!"

I feel like I've been kicked in the balls. I back up and she quickly dresses. I stand before her with my trousers around my ankles and my dick shriveling in front of her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Andy. I'm a mess." She turns away from me.

I manage to get myself decent. "It's alright. I'm the last thing you need right now," I say, sadly.

"I'm not sure of anything anymore."

Neither am I. I know she was right to stop us, but it's not like I have an on/off switch that can be flipped.

"Please forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive. Maybe you should go find Johnny."

Our eyes meet for one last time and I can still see the sizzle of passion and confusion in hers. She gives me a light kiss on the cheek and leaves to find her husband.

I stare at the knobs and switches on the soundboard, but I don't really see them. Instead I see Angie laying back, welcoming me into her world. My cock doesn't know whether to rise or fall. I close my eyes and realize the critics are one hundred percent correct. This band is a bunch of fucked-up misfits.  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

July 1987 - NME Magazine releases the article "Smiths to Split" claiming Johnny is leaving the band.

Fall of 1987 - Johnny officially leaves The Smiths, believing the NME article was leaked by Morrissey as a threat. He purchases two one-way tickets to Los Angeles for himself and Angie and tries not to look back. Andy is not really surprised by any of this and spirals into a series of bad relationships and drug abuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an alternate ending to this in an alternate universe. And I am RockingItInAParallelUniverse so why can't my characters? That will be the final chapter in this overly melodramatic tale. Thanks to all who have braved this and read the entire thing. Only one more chapter to go. Hurrah!


	9. There Is Another World, There Is A Better World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Angie kicks ass and takes names.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Complete fiction. I have always pictured Angie as strong, confident and independent. I would think you would have to be to maintain such a long- lasting relationship with Johnny. So Angie as a shrinking violet just letting the boys decide the fate of her life seems improbable to me; as well as her being totally ignorant or uninvolved in Johnny and Mozzer's relationship. So here we are, back at the recording studio in an alternate universe.

1987 - A few paragraphs into Chapter 8 in an alternate universe

Morrissey says something too softly for me to hear through the plexiglass. He takes Angie's hand and places it on his heart. He reaches for Johnny, but Johnny wrenches away, grabbing for Angie instead.

Angie is over it. She stands and shouts,"You both need to calm the fuck down!" She pulls away from both men, places her hands on her hips and gives them a stare that would cause the grim reaper to cower in terror.

Moz and Johnny stop dead in their tracks, both boys' jaws dropping in shock.

She looks around the sound booth and out the window until her gaze discovers me, still plastered against the wall of our rehearsal space.

"You! Andy! Get your arse in here."

I am not about to disobey her order, so I skulk into the sound booth like a beaten puppy.

"What are you doing here?" Moz asks, utterly befuddled.

Angie snaps at him, "What difference does it make?"

Johnny starts to giggle uncontrollably like a little girl. "Stop me if you think that you've heard this one before," he snorts through his laughter.

"Did someone punch you in the head?" Moz sniffs, shaking his quiff.

This makes Johnny bristle and he snaps back into combat mode. He is on his feet, chest puffed out, trying to stretch his short stature to Moz's height. His right hand is clenched in a fist aimed toward Morrissey's nose.

"Oh for fuck's sake!" Angie is so done with all of us. "You! Sit down!" She is pointing toward Johnny. All three of us sit down.

"I have absolutely had it with the lot of you! So let me tell you how it's going to go. And if you don't like it, yes, Steven, I'm looking at you, you will be out of our arrangement."

Silence.

Angie looks pleased. Her face takes on a haughty expression and she examines her finger nails, refusing to make eye contact. "I will replace you with Andy."

"What?!?" Johnny and I both shout at the same time Moz yelps,"Beg your pardon?"

"First, Johnny and I are going on a two week holiday. We will tolerate no interruptions."

Moz gasps. "But what about all this video nonsense? What if there are pressing concerns?"

"I'm sure you can handle them, Steven," says Angie.

"That will be the day," Johnny grumbles.

"You're just punishing me for yesterday," Morrissey pouts.

"If you would have fucking shown up yesterday, you wouldn't have to worry about it. Maybe now you'll understand why we need a manager and I need a fucking break!" 

"Oh please. You seem to manage everything just fine when you are working with Bryan Ferry. I just bore you."

"Shit, Mozzer. You know I like to experiment with different sounds. I thought working with Bryan would give me a chance to try something new without upsetting you. I know how attached you are to the way we do things. I thought this would be a way for me to expand and maybe learn something. Maybe even learn something that you would like."

"So you don't want to leave? I haven't run you off?"

"No! I love this. I love you! But I can't fucking do everything!"

Morrissey folds his arms across his chest and stares at the floor. "Maybe I could talk to Joe Moss. Maybe, um, apologize for my behavior from a few years ago."

Johnny's eyes light up. "You'd do that? You're really ok with Joe?"

"I like him better than Ken."

"That would mean the world to me, Mozzer." Johnny's voice is strangely cracking.

Angie looks radiantly triumphant. "Look at what happens when you two actually talk to each other!"

"But I won't be able to speak with either of you while you're on holiday!" Moz whines.

"You managed for 20 years before Johnny knocked on your door. I think you can survive 2 weeks."

Johnny walks over to Morrissey and wraps his arms around the older man's waist. "We can spend time together after. No business. Take a month off just to relax. Only write and play music if we feel like it."

"So you won't replace me with Andy, then?" Morrissey asks Angie.

"Why would you bring that back up?" Johnny asks, incredulously. "I'm sure it was an idle threat, right, love?"

My blush sets my face on fire.

"Well, that depends," she says.

"On what?" All three of us say at the same time.

"Steven you need to tell Mike to stop pushing for a new album."

"Done!"

"I still think Andy would be a lovely addition."

"But I've known him forever!" Johnny protests.

"I know. We are not strangers. That's a good thing."

"I'm right here, you know. Don't I have a say in this?" I finally manage to speak.

"He is not replacing me!" Morrissey is indignant.

"Don't worry, Steven. You won't have to be, um, involved, where Andy is concerned."

Everyone is looking at me, waiting for me to say something. I feel strangely at ease. I think I'm actually enjoying this. I turn to Morrissey and with the most innocent smile I can muster I tell him, "I don't mind if you join us." I look directly into Moz's blue eyes and raise my eyebrows twice, daring him to respond.

Angie laughs, Johnny looks horrified and Morrissey turns redder than a tomato. But he quickly regains his composure. "I'll consider it if you go blonde again." He holds my stare and returns my eyebrow lift with a smile that is all sweetness and light.

"For fuck's sake," Johnny sighs and all four of us burst into laughter.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Summer of 1987 - Joe Moss agrees to manage The Smiths with Morrissey's assurance of open communication.

1988 - The Smiths launch a worldwide tour for 'Strangeways, Here We Come'. It is a huge success. The band goes on to create music together, but not at such a prolific rate, for years into the future. The critics are quick to point out that something is missing in this new music that was an integral part of the pre 1988 albums. The fans do not agree with the critics.

Johnny and Angie Marr - Have a successful marriage and start a family, yet are able to remain "unconventional" and happy. Johnny collaborates with many bands and even tries his hand at some solo music.

Morrissey - Still shrouds his personal life in mystery but appears quite content to the casual observer. His partnership with Johnny (creative and otherwise...) keeps him grounded yet able to dream of a future filled with success and happiness. He also takes time away from the band to engage in a solo career where he can sing whatever cover songs he likes with no pushback from other band members.

Mike Joyce - Marries Tina, raises a family, continues to play drums. He embarks on a talk radio show because he has an opinion on nearly everything and really likes to run his mouth.

Andy Rourke - settles down with a lovely television producer from New York who introduces him to transcendental meditation. Through her support, as well as his bandmates', he manages to kick his heroin habit for good, using meditation to get any social anxiety and depression under control. He continues to be a god on the bass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read this! Hope the ending wasn't too crappy.


End file.
